XII : Vicious
I will fight until the end,
Get ready to collide.
And I will watch you fall again,
I'll bury you alive.
You tried to bring me to my knees,
You tried to take it all,
Now I will stand and watch you crawl.
It's a bad sign that Brutus is waiting for me when I get off the elevator. It's an even worse sign that he's trying to smile.
"How was training?" he asks.
I look from his restless posture, to his dilated pupils, to his hands fidgeting at his sides. He's high as a fucking kite.
"Fine," I say, growing less interested in whatever he has to say by the second. The fact that he's trying to have this conversation high is one more bad sign; three strikes and I'm out.
He steps in my way, blocking the path to my room.
"Brutus," I warn.
He grins, poking me in the chest and shoving. I know this dance. I step back. "Stay. I've got big news for you. But first: how was training?" He emphasizes each word with another shove.
"Fine," I repeat. "District Ten's been doing better than expected—she's actually made half-decent progress."
Brutus snorts. "I'm sure that's not saying much," he says. "So what, now she knows what end of the knife to hold?"
"Her family were butchers," I point out. "So she already had an idea."
Caerwyn's experience in the butcher shop hasn't given her the exact skillset she needs to succeed in the arena, but it's definitely helped. I had to tell her twice today to stop twirling the blade between her fingers—she's more at ease with a weapon in her hand than most kids in the Academy are until they've had years of training. Not that Brutus wants to hear that.
"Hm. That'll be lucky for you if the arena is overrun with chickens and pigs."
I notice Farley step into the doorway to the dining room. Judging by the smirk on her face, she doesn't want to miss whatever this is about to be.
Yet another reason to get the hell out of here.
"I'm going to shower now," I announce, looking away from her before I find myself across the room with my hands around her neck. "I can give you details about training later, if you really want to know."
"Believe me boyo, I'm not at all interested in the gory details of training with District Ten," he says, sneering. "I was just being polite. It's your… partnership that we need to discuss."
The way he says it makes my skin crawl. Brutus thinks people from other Districts are little more than animals who exist to keep the Capitol and District Two fed, clothed, and entertained—I'm sure his list of ways Caerwyn could contribute to our partnership is short and obscene.
"Great," I say, stepping again toward the hallway. "You can discuss all you want while I shower."
Farley—still lurking—grins viciously, and shakes her head at me.
I feel my finger start tapping against my thigh, and force it to stop. I swear I can already hear the wet crunch of her windpipe, and it sounds like fucking music.
But I can't kill her now. Wait for the arena.
Brutus blocks my way again. "I'm talking to you," he snaps. "Listen up. You're actually going to like this news."
I sigh, stepping back once more. I don't believe him; Farley wouldn't be eavesdropping unless there was bad news in store. The kind of bad news that can't wait until Brutus is sober. "Fine. Make it fast. I've got shit to do and I'm meeting Caerwyn for more training after dinner."
He makes a face that turns my stomach. "Well. I wouldn't want to keep you from that." He chuckles. "Right then. There's no alliance this year."
It takes me a second to realise what he means. "None?"
He grins. "Nope. Apparently now that everyone's got partners, no one trusts anybody else."
"Not even the pair from One?" That's surprising; the two of them spent every minute training together before the Pairing.
"Are you thick, boyo? None means none." He rolls his eyes. "Not you and Farley either, since I can tell you're dying to ask."
That really is music to my ears. "Fantastic." I grin. "Bitch was as likely to put a knife in my back as any of the others anyway."
She scowls.
But Brutus's smile dies quickly. "Go shower," he orders. "The rest of our chat can wait until you don't smell like a sweaty ballsack."
I hesitate. Now he's letting me go? Before the bad news?
I'm really not going to like this.
"Go," he jerks his head toward my door, practically snarling. Then he smiles. "Good talk."
I finally understand what's going on the second I'm through the door.
"For fuck's sake," I mutter, making sure to lock it behind me. I wouldn't put it past Farley to open the door a crack to keep listening. This is the conversation she was waiting for.
The tall figure in the corner unfolds himself from the chair, buttoning the jacket of his crisp purple suit and straightening its sleeves. "Glad you made it back okay," he says. "I was starting to think you got lost."
"Thanks." I don't move any further into the room. "What brings you by?"
As if I don't already know. As if a pit didn't open in the bottom of my stomach the second I saw him.
"Brutus didn't already tell you?" he asks. "He seemed excited to."
"That was just the coke," I say, sounding bitter even to my own ears. "He must have figured the news would be better coming from you. Since you're on the board, I'm guessing."
His silence confirms it.
The pit in my stomach widens. No.
No, please, no.
"Dad—" I clear my throat, embarrassed at the scratch in my voice. "Are they cutting me off?"
His face is unreadable. "Have a seat, Cato."
I shake my head. Whatever he has to say… it doesn't matter. It won't change anything, and I don't want to hear it.
I toe off my shoes and kick them to the side. Fuck this.
"Stop. I said have a seat."
I ignore him, almost ripping my shirt as I yank it over my head. "I'm taking a shower," I say, already almost at the bathroom door.
"Sit down," he commands, voice steely-quiet. "Taking your clothes off is not the answer. You should know, since that's what got you into this mess."
I spin around to face him, my vision gone red. "Fuck off."
He steps closer, and with every cell in my body I feel the weight of the mistake I've just made. Calm down. I take a deep breath, but my heart keeps hammering. Calm down.
Unlike Brutus, Karnus doesn't crowd into my space or shove me to make himself seem intimidating. He just stares me down until I feel small and sick with anticipation of whatever is coming.
I don't apologize—he hates apologies. I've heard countless times how if you mean to do something then apologizing for it makes you a kiss-ass, and if you didn't mean to do it then apologizing is admitting you lack self-control.
Instead, I meet his stare for a long few seconds, then look away. I take a seat at the little table at the foot of my bed. "What can I do?"
"You can get ahold of yourself and stop behaving like a child," he says sharply. "You're not cut off yet, but you're about to be."
My head snaps up. "What?"
He gives me a hard look. "Don't ask questions if you're not going to listen." After a brief pause, he continues. "Farley getting partnered with Logan is turning into the reason the board has been looking for to pull your funding."
The board. Also known as the five eldest Victors from Two. They seemed so intimidating back when I started training. I grew to realise they were just a huge pain in the ass, but after last year… they've started to flex their muscles. Karnus joining their numbers has only helped them in that area. "Well then why haven't they?"
He raises one eyebrow. If we were back home, I would be running suicides by now. "Because I've convinced them not to," he says, sitting down in the other chair. "And because the amount of sponsor support you've received so far has given them reason to re-think things."
I take a deep breath. Calm. Down. "Because of Caerwyn." Because of Caerwyn… and her crazy strategy. Could it actually be working?
Karnus chuckles. "I doubt it. You're a Legacy—that matters quite a bit here in the Capitol—and you're from Two. We haven't spent decades building a reputation as the most competitive District for nothing."
He doesn't mention how after the recent sponsor drought no one is willing to risk fucking this up. Not him, not the rest of the board, not even Enobaria, who's been on Farley's side from day one.
It's only happened a few times, and it's technically illegal, but everyone knows it's possible to arrange for one Tribute's sponsorship money to be sent to their District Partner. It used to happen much more often when Districts had only one Mentor—and it probably happened last year with the pair from Twelve. At least that would explain how only Katniss got gifts in the arena when the entire Capitol was going crazy over both of the so-called lovers.
That night on the roof, when Brutus came up to tell me about Farley and Logan, I suspected something like that would happen to me. I already knew the other Victors on the board weren't keen on me being here at all, and Farley getting Paired with another volunteer seemed like the perfect excuse to redirect all their resources to helping her win. Usually it's not even hard to do as long as the other Mentor is in on it, and Brutus will do whatever the board tells him.
Lucky for me, the board really doesn't want to piss off the sponsors we have left. Although for the right reason (or the wrong Tribute) I know they still would. Which just makes me think something is missing from Karnus's explanation. "How does the sponsor system work this year?" I ask him.
"Tributes have separate accounts, the same as any other year," he replies. He folds his hands on the table, long fingers loosely interlocked. "There is some accountability between Mentors whose Tributes are paired, since sponsors have the option to donate to Pairs instead of individuals. But it's not enough to help us."
In other words: the missing reason is sitting in front of me. "So they're only holding off so long as you tell them to."
He says nothing.
Suddenly I feel exhausted. What's the point of all this? And why was I so stupid to think it could go any other way? I knew the board hated me after what happened last year. I knew it was only because they respected Karnus as a Victor and the newest board member that I was even given a shot. What in my life has ever led me to think they were forgiving enough to really give me a second chance?
I guess I just thought I was good enough to earn it.
I look up at my father, whose eyes haven't left mine. I am good enough. I must be—no one has higher standards than he does; no one has pulled more blood, sweat, and tears from my body than he has. And he gave me a second chance.
"Fuck them," I say, teeth grit. "I'll win without sponsors."
He slams his palm down on the table. The noise is loud enough Farley can probably hear it, but I barely blink. "You're not listening!" he seethes, his voice still quiet. "They haven't cut you off yet; you need to make sure they don't. This is a Quell, Cato; you will need sponsors."
I'm not sure what he wants me to do. Kiss-ass with the other board members?
I'd rather die.
He sighs, anticipating my confusion. "Toe the line, like I know you can." His eyes are hard. "Don't give them any reason to doubt their decision to let you represent District Two. You are better than Farley. You're better than Dominic, and Clove." He stands, straightening his jacket once more. "So don't embarrass us."
My grip on the table tightens. "I won't."
"Good. Make sure the farm girl doesn't either. You can't afford to let another partner fuck this up."
I head to the roof before dessert is served, claiming I'm late for after-dinner training. I know Caerwyn won't be there yet, but I need space away from my team to think, and the roof is as decent a place as any for that.
When she does show up, I'm surprised to see fifteen minutes have passed.
"I would ask if you're freezing," she says, pulling a sweater over her head, "but now that I've visited the giant icebox that you call your apartment I think I know better."
She shivers dramatically as she enters the gazebo, ignoring the benches and instead taking a seat on the floor a few feet from me, bringing her knees to her chest.
"It's really not that cold out," I say.
"There's a breeze," she counters. "Can't risk catching a chill before the arena. There'll be enough chills to catch inside it, in all likelihood." She starts braiding her hair. "What did you do to your hand?"
I flex the bandaged fingers. "I picked up some glass."
She nods slowly. "Carefully?"
"Not especially."
She makes a vague noise of sympathy. "That'll do it." She brightens, clearly about to change the subject. "How was dinner? We had duck à l'orange—at least that's what Rhodendra called it—and it was wonderful. Did you guys have the same thing?"
'Wonderful' is a pipe dream for dinners on our floor. The food was great, as usual, and Karnus's presence kept Farley from being the complete bitch she usually is, but she made up for it by spending the entire time talking about how fantastic it is training with Logan, trying to make it as obvious as possible that they're the Pair to bet on.
What she was saying didn't bother me that much—I barely listened to a word of it and was happy enough to know my days of having to listen to her are almost done—but after talking with my father and Brutus I had a lot on my mind. I just wanted to eat in peace and quiet.
"Fine," I say. "Karnus came by."
Confusion flickers across her face, and she pauses the braid. he leans forward. "Karnus… as in your dad?"
"The one and only."
For once she seems at a loss for words. "That's… nice." She finishes braiding her hair, tying off the end and flicking the tail behind her. "Did he come to offer advice or something?"
I almost laugh. "Yeah, more or less."
She waits expectantly for me to say more, and it's several long seconds before she seems to realize that's not going to happen.
"That reminds me, actually," she says, reaching down the front of her sweater and pulling out a chain. "Speaking of advice: can you to wear this in the arena?" She detaches the pendant, tossing it to me.
It only takes me a second to recognise it: it's the ring someone threw at her head during the chariot ride.
"I already have a token," she explains. "Our Escort doesn't think I'd be able to take both, even on a necklace, and I think it would mean a lot to whoever threw it to see it again." She tucks the chain back into her shirt, but not before I notice something else hanging from it. "We can make up some story about it representing all the people in the Capitol who are cheering us on."
I throw it back to her. "I can't."
For the shortest second, frustration shows on her face, then it's gone and she looks at me like she has all the patience in the world. "Why not?"
Why didn't I just say I won't?
"We never take tokens into the arena," I say, hoping she'll drop it.
"Yeah, I know. You told me that before." She smiles, and you'd never know anything was trying her patience. "But you've also never sent Tributes in with partners before—there's a first for everything. Plus, my token is a ring too, and people will love that symmetry."
The anger that had died down in my fifteen minutes of peace comes back in a flash. I don't give a fuck about symmetry or what people like or that she thinks it's okay to be the first to break a longstanding District Two tradition—I'm not doing it. "Forget it. I said I won't."
She doesn't back down, but somehow stays calm, still smiling. "Is it that you can't or you won't? Because if you really think you can't wear it then that's one thing, but I thought we had an agreement that you would trust me outside of the arena with stuff like this."
I can't trust you at all.
"At least can you tell me why?" she pries.
I watch her closely, trying to fight the anger boiling in my chest and match her composure. You don't think straight when you're angry, I remind myself, the words so old and familiar. Not thinking straight will get you killed.
Not thinking straight won't let me weigh the cost of letting her know just how fucked I am.
Watching her while trying to calm down seems to help. I can distract myself by sizing her up. Again.
It seems like every time I think I have a grip on her, she does something to make me second-guess myself. Her calm and overly-friendly attitude right now feels very suspicious, but besides that one split-second of frustration she's given me no reason to doubt her sincerity. Maybe she really is trying to help. Maybe she's just trying to learn everything to help her chances of surviving the next few weeks, with or without me.
It's what I was trying to figure out before she got here. She didn't even try to lie that she wanted me as her partner for these Games, but why? Before tonight I'd just kind of assumed that she picked me because she knew I would be the best able to protect her. Like my father said: we've spent years building a certain reputation around the Games, and the other Districts know that as well as the Capitol. She would have known I knew how to fight and kill, and since she doesn't have any of that training, I would be a naturally valuable ally.
It seemed cut-and-dry. But I kept getting stuck on how she seemed happy to learn that we're not getting the sponsor support we had ten years ago—and that doesn't make any sense. If she wanted me because I'm a "Career," as she keeps calling me, then learning about the sponsor problem would have been a very bad bit of news. But I can still remember her face, and she was definitely glad.
The only thing I can think of to explain it is her strategy. She must have been so confident in her own ability to get sponsors that she didn't need the ones I would bring as a volunteer from Two. Better yet—letting her know that we needed sponsors meant that I needed her, too.
That's the reason I agreed to it, as much as I did (and do) think it's crazy to pretend to be into someone for money. It just shows what kind of luck I have that now that I need sponsors more than ever, I have to tell her that strategy is completely off the table. Starting with this stupid ring.
I don't care that it takes me a long time to answer, or that she starts to frown a little when I don't stop staring at her.
She doesn't seem to like the silence, though, and speaks up before I reply. "Can I… can I say something that is probably going to make you angry and can you promise not to be angry about it?"
I scoff. "That doesn't make any sense."
Her expression shifts into one that says she knows something I don't. Somehow it isn't smug. "You can get angry and not be angry." She looks down at my hand—it's started tapping against my leg again—then looks back at me with a little smile. "I get the feeling you're actually pretty good at that."
I stop the tapping. "Fine. What do you have to say?"
She takes the time to choose her words carefully. "I think District Two has forgotten that the Hunger Games operate primarily as a source of entertainment. Obviously they're a reminder to the Districts about the strength and mercy of the Capitol and the horror of the Dark Days and all that, but they don't play like that for the most part. The only consistent part of the Games that contributes to that purpose is the fact that twenty-three kids die violently." She shifts forward. "But everything else? The parades, the interviews, the costumes, having a different arena each year, celebrating the Victor like a hero and showering them with wealth?" She counts the list off on her fingers, then shrugs. "That's not for us. That's for the Capitol. But it seems like you guys go all in for bringing glory to your District and showing you're the best of us, rather than trying to cater to the Games' actual target audience."
Which meant some of that audience got tired and stopped sponsoring us. She doesn't say it, but the idea hangs in the air anyway.
I spend a minute thinking about this before I realise that she must have guessed what the issue with the ring is. Either that or this observation is completely random and just happens to hit the nail on the head—which she might want me to believe, but I don't.
Fuck. I guess honesty it is. "They want to pull my funding," I say.
To her credit, you'd never be able to tell from watching her that I'm answering a question she asked several minutes ago. Still, it stops her short, and her mouth falls open a little. "What? How can… how can they just stop funding you?"
Her reaction makes me immediately regret telling her, but I don't think there's any getting this cat back into the bag. "I've been on probation for a while now," I say, still not completely sure why I'm telling her this. "The priority for our Team is bringing back a Victor, and Farley's got a good partner and a better history of following the rules. She's the safe choice."
I didn't think it was possible, but now she looks even more incredulous. Her eyes might just pop out of her head. "They still can't just not use your sponsor money."
"It doesn't make the sponsors happy, that's for sure," I say quietly. "But they can."
"But why would they? To teach you a lesson? To teach next year's volunteers what happens if they don't toe the line?"
All of the above? "To bring home another Victor. They can redirect the money to Farley to help her."
I expect this to make her angry, but she surprises me by bursting out with a loud laugh. "And pull a fast one on Fra? Oh, good luck with that." She shakes her head, still chuckling. "I hate to break it to your team, but that's never going to happen."
"Why? It's not like your Mentor can stop them." As the words are leaving my mouth, though, I wonder. I thought there had to be another reason…
She raises her eyebrows. "Oh, he absolutely can. Fra made sure to tell me all about the financial set-up after we got Paired; all our money goes into a joint account, where sponsors can place donations that are split between us, or designated exclusively, if they choose. Fra and Brutus both have access to that account and can see everything that's going on, they just can't touch the other's portion without their consent." She shrugs. "So the worst Brutus could do is leave all your money alone—Fra would be able to see him moving anything around and put a stop to that real fast."
Unless Fra didn't have access anymore. "Unless you died."
She rolls her eyes. "Right, well what are they going to do? Tell you to kill me so they can have all our money for the sole purpose of hanging you out to dry and giving the money to Farley? That's almost as dumb as trying to steal it all with Fra watching their every move."
Instinctively, I'm irritated that she doesn't think I would still kill her, but I have to admit she's right. I wouldn't, even if they told me that killing her would mean I was back in the board's good graces. There would be no guarantee they'd follow through with that promise, and while being left with no funding would suck, being left with no funding and no partner would be worse. I can't risk it.
Does that mean, in some twisted, backwards way, I do trust Caerwyn more than I trust my team?
I need to figure that out, because someone is lying to me about where the money goes, and I don't know who. I don't believe that my father is just misinformed about the financial set-up, and I don't think Caerwyn would be either, which means one of them is intentionally trying to manipulate me.
I don't care that I'm staring again—I watch her face for any hint that she's the liar. Does she have the balls to lie to me about this? Why would she? It seems like she's figured out that I'm caught between going along with her strategy and doing what my team wants, and if she can make me believe I'm not going to lose my funding then that makes me much more likely to go along with her various schemes… but how would that help her? If she's lying and my funding gets redirected to Farley, that hurts her too, since it means that either her sponsorship money has to support both of us or she has to go it alone in the arena.
But then… if Caerwyn isn't lying to me, why is my father?
She looks thoughtful, staring at the flowers growing on the gazebo wall. It's her turn to let the silence stretch, and it's a long time before she turns back to me, looking wary. "They told you they would give your money to Farley?"
"They said they were going to cut me off."
"But, and this is really important, the board—whoever they are—want you to believe they're going to give your money to her?"
I think back to what Karnus said. He was never explicit about giving my money away, but that was definitely the idea. "Yeah."
She nods once. "They're bluffing."
I lean forward, arms braced on my knees. "You sound pretty sure of that."
"I am. And I should be—unless everyone who's in charge in District Two is an idiot, they know they can't steal money from right under Fra's nose. If they're claiming they can, it's just because they want you to think they can."
I find myself believing her, and it scares the hell out of me. More than that, it pisses me off. "But why?"
She gives me a dry look. "You tell me. Is it just about control, or is something else going on?"
I flex my injured hand, thinking again of my father's parting instructions. "Maybe. Karnus said that the amount of sponsor attention I've been getting has saved me so far."
"That makes sense—we have been pretty fortunate with donations."
I nod. Time to change the subject. "Yeah. Looks like your strategy is working."
She shrugs, all false modesty. "We're getting off to the right start, at least—people voted to put us together and it seems like they're still putting their money where their mouth is." As she predicted. "We still have to nail the interview, and I have to get a decent Training score to keep this ball a-rolling. But the good news is that if we continue on the current trajectory we should be fine; if the money in our account has stayed your board's hand so far, pulling the plug on you is only going to get less and less appealing as the money in that account grows." Now she gives me what I think is supposed to be a stern look. "Which means we need to do everything we can to look like the best Pair to sponsor. Which means getting a really high Pair Score, which means coordinating our private sessions and not being super secretive about them."
Of course she would bring it back to this. "It is called a private session," I point out.
"It's only private after the fact," she says, waving her hand in dismissal. "No one is supposed to know what you've done, it doesn't matter what you're planning to do."
I have to wonder if she comes up with these arguments ahead of time or if she just makes this shit up as she goes. "That's the same thing."
"Only if you follow through exactly and everything goes as planned." The look on her face tells me that this is not something that happens very often with her. "And besides: you're my partner—I'm supposed to have the inside scoop. The Pair Score isn't just the average of how well we've done individually, it also takes into account how well we work together. How compatible we are."
And whether at the parade, training, or even our interviews, she's been making a point of showing we're compatible every chance she gets. Even her little stunt in the chariot where she almost fell out would have shown the Capitol—including the Gamemakers—that I'm supposedly watching out for her. "Good thing we skipped lunch both days then," I say. "Nothing says we're a serious Pair like being more committed to training together than eating."
She groans. "And at what cost?" She adjusts her seat, now criss-crossing her legs and leaning back on her arms. "But now you're drawing the subject away from the matter at hand; our final chance to show the Gamemakers a united front is tomorrow afternoon, and that will be really hard to do if I don't know what you're planning. You want to show your District team that they'd be making a mistake if they cut you off? Then we need our scores to blow them out of the water."
I lean forward. "It sure didn't take you long to turn my problem into a chance for you to get what you want, did it?"
"Oh don't take it personally," she says airily. "I do my best to turn everyone's problems into an opportunity to get what I want."
She smirks a little as she says it, and for the first time since I noticed her on interview night, she actually seems a little dangerous. And she definitely is good at getting what she wants.
"I'll wear the ring for the interview," I tell her, figuring that's a good middle ground.
She looks torn between celebrating that I've given in and trying to push for more. "Okay, great!" she says. "What about the arena?"
I guess she chooses pushing for more. "I don't want to wear it in the arena."
She's uncharacteristically quiet for a long time, biting the inside of her cheek. Before she even opens her mouth I have a bad feeling what she's going to say.
"Why is your District team so set against you?" she asks.
Yeah, schedule that conversation for when Hell freezes over.
The silence stretches on, until finally she sits forward, sighing. "I'm just trying to understand what we're dealing with," she says. "You said you're on probation, but I don't know what that means. I don't know how to make this better if I don't know what the hell's going on."
"I thought you said my team can't steal my funding."
"They can't," she insists, exasperated. "But that doesn't mean they can't still make things difficult for both of us if they want to. I'd like to avoid that." She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer. "My life is on the line here too, you know. I want to win as much as you do. And I'm trying the best I can, but if there's some secret…" she waves her hand "some secret something going on that I don't know about, I don't want to say or do the wrong thing that's going to make it become a problem. So if you're really saying that wearing a token in the arena is going to be a problem, then I'll just have to trust you. I don't have much of a choice, because I need you on my side." She touches her necklace as she says this. "But I'd rather you explain it to me."
I'm not going to explain. There really is just no way that whole story is coming out—definitely not now, probably not ever. "I told you. I have a history of not following the rules, and they're worried I'll embarrass them," I say instead. "Which I'm already going to be doing by being the Victor who won with help from a girl from Ten. I don't also want to shit on every tradition that made us what we are along the way."
She considers this. "We can find a compromise," she says. "I'm assuming the romantic aspect of our strategy falls under 'embarrassing?'"
"Good instinct."
She smiles. "Well, like I said before: it's not going to be anything too overt. It's the build-up—the drama of it all—that people love to see anyway," she says. "I'll just make sure it stays that way. As for image, that's even easier to fix."
"How?"
She toys with the end of her braid. "Reminding everyone how I would just die without you, for starters. It's not that far from the truth that I'm extremely reliant on your training and expertise, and playing that up will be easy." She's quiet for a moment before she continues. "You can trust me with this, Cato. I want to win. My skills are different than yours but I'm still doing the best I can to help us both."
It's a lot of words that really aren't worth the breath to speak them. The Pairing tied us together, but we're not a team, not true partners. We'll work together as long we see each other as more an asset than a liability, and no longer.
Still I catch myself wishing that I could trust her. I've trained my whole life for the Games, but now that I'm here everything is going to shit and it would make it all so much better to have even one person I could really rely on. I'd kill to have Adrian here, or Clove, or even Dominic.
But they're all either dead or too far away, leaving me with this small and chatty farm girl who might be lying to me, but who still might be my best chance of success. Depressing as that is.
At least I can trust that she's going to do everything she can to survive. These past two days of training have proven that she's got the strength and the grit to make it in the arena, and if I can make her understand that her best chance of survival is to do exactly what I tell her then this partnership might just work.
"I said I would follow your lead outside the arena," I say finally. "I'm just trying to do that without making things worse."
"I get why you're concerned," she says, and she really sounds like she means it. "But our way out of this predicament is through; my strategy has been working so far, and I'm just asking for a bit more trust to make it work."
More trust.
I think of Karnus and his warning, and—for the millionth time since Caerwyn told me of her strategy—I think of Clove. Of watching last year's Games from the sidelines, thinking that it was my one chance and because of her I blew it.
Caerwyn may not know what she's asking, but I do. It's on me if this blows up in our faces, but the way things stand right now I might be fucked anyway. So what have I really got to lose?
"You're going to have the choice between a simulation and facing off against a trainer—choose the trainer. If something goes wrong with the simulation, it'll look worse than if you screw up with the actual person."
"Got it. And I'm sure the next item is 'don't screw up with the trainer either'?" Caerwyn asks.
"If you can help it."
I'm not sure how much she's actually paying attention to what I'm saying—she definitely seems much more focused on her plate and everything on it—and at this point she has me curious if she can get her mouth to keep talking without actually engaging her brain at all. It wouldn't surprise me, at this point.
I should have guessed this would happen after seeing how excited she was when I told her we weren't going to be skipping lunch today. "What else?" She asks, not even looking up.
"If something does go wrong with the trainer and the combat part of your plan, make time to get it right. I know your whole plan is to give a well-rounded performance, but the Gamemakers have seen us training the past three days—they know that I taught you all the self-defence skills you'll be showing them. If you fuck them up and don't make it right it'll look bad on both of us."
Her eyes meet mine for a split second, and she raises her eyebrows. "Well, we must avoid that." She tosses another chocolate-covered cherry into her mouth. "Then make sure you do the same… or, the opposite, rather: make sure you make time to show them something besides fighting. Don't forget: you're not giving them the District Two Special this year."
I really wish she would stop calling it that. "Don't push your luck. I'm breaking so many of our rules already—you should count yourself lucky if I even look at one of the other stations."
She hides her smirk behind her glass of milk. "I don't know how you guys have managed to go thirty-one years of weapons-only during the private sessions. That seems…" she stops herself before saying something insulting. "I mean, how do you even verify that? It would be the easiest thing in the world for your Tributes to lie about."
In last night's incredibly long discussion of compromise, Caerwyn managed to make it clear that she thinks almost all of our traditions in Two are stupid. This one more than most. "This is why I didn't want to tell you."
"No; you didn't want to tell me because after all that talk of following rules you were worried I would blab to Brutus that you were going to break a big one even before I encouraged it," she corrects. "Which I'm still offended by, just so you know. I would never blab."
"I don't care. Be offended all you want—I'm just trying to get a good score while my team is breathing down my neck."
"You will get a good score." Her voice is strangely soft, and I look up from my plate to see she's making doe eyes at me. "A great one, even. I believe in you, Cato."
"Fuck right off," I say, not caring that my mouth is full of sandwich. She just grins. "I told you that wasn't going to work."
"I told you I'm going to keep trying." She leans across the table, whispering now. "You have to get used to it; there's going to be lots more meaningful looks in the arena, and even some flirting, since that's all I'm allowed now." She sits back, winking. "I promise it won't be so obvious, but I swear if you tell me to fuck right off in the arena we are going to have a problem."
I ignore her threat, turning my own attention back to my lunch. I ignore Farley, too, who is sitting a few tables over and is watching Caerwyn and me with a look that I can't interpret but definitely don't like. At least Caerwyn's been keeping her voice down, I think. I've never met anyone who talks so much and so loudly. If she'd been speaking normally, then not only Farley but every Avox in the kitchen would have heard every word she said.
"I feel like I need to take back all my complaints about skipping lunch," she says, still watching me. There's not a speck of dessert left on her own plate. "It's a wonder you didn't collapse of hunger midway through the afternoon. Heck, halfway through the morning." She squints, looking me up and down. "Where does all that food go? Are all those muscles hollowed out to make room?"
I pause, taking a drink of water. "I need to eat a lot."
"Yeah, that much is clear," she says. "But I would have thought you'd… I don't know. Carry more weight. You really eat like this all the time?"
"Yes." At her amazed expression, I remember how poor Ten is. "Karnus," I say by way of explanation. I cut into a chicken breast. "He's always been kind of psycho about what I eat."
I could bite my tongue off—and I almost do. Why did I say that? Why would I think she needs to know?
She does a pretty good job of hiding that her interest is piqued—I almost don't notice her eyes light up. "Well, it's worked, I guess," she says. "I guess it's pretty easy for you to put on weight for the arena, then."
I snort. "You have any idea how many calories I need to eat in a day to gain weight? With all the exercise I get in a day?" I raise my eyebrows. "I'm serious. Any idea?"
She starts to smile, then shakes her head. "No. Maybe… like five thousand?"
I sit back. "For the last three months, I've been eating eight thousand calories almost every day and I've been losing weight."
Her eyes go wide, then she laughs. "You're joking."
"I am not."
Somehow they get wider. "Seriously?"
I nod, resuming lunch. "Yep. And they still had to dehydrate me to hell and back for the chariot ride."
She looks confused. "What?"
"That clear stuff they give you that makes you piss like crazy? They would have given you some too." She just raises an eyebrow at the implication. Adrian has told me a hundred times not to say a word about a girl's weight, but Clove never cared, and I don't see why it matters anyway. "It's a serious diuretic, but also makes you feel hydrated for a few hours."
Her mouth falls open. "They didn't tell me that!"
I take a bite of chicken. "Did you pass out?"
"I… I could have passed out?!"
I shrug. "If you didn't get fluids in you in the next few hours, yeah."
She exhales sharply. "I am going to have words with Jinno next time I see her," she says, crossing her arms. She looks up at me. "One of my styling team hates me, I think. At least she routinely tells me I'm fat, though not in so many words. She did tell me she thinks some time starving in the arena would do me some good."
"That's fucked up."
She starts to laugh. "I know!" She takes a long drink of water. "And as if they did that to you too."
"They do it to all the guys. People want to see abs."
Her face clearly says she doesn't disagree. "Pretty convenient that they can just give you a drink that does that. I mean, I guess you have to have good abs anyway, which you… I mean you do, so it works. Still, it's convenient."
I raise an eyebrow. "Is this you flirting again?"
She raises her hands helplessly, making a face. "Not very well, that's for sure. Unless it's working?"
"No."
"Then no, it's definitely not."
She's a strange one, that's for sure. I'm not sure what exactly I did to make her feel comfortable enough to joke around like this—if my team could hear the way she talks to me they would have a thing or two to say themselves—but it's not… it's not bad. Somehow she almost always knows what lines not to cross, and on the occasions she does she's proven herself very good at backtracking.
It hasn't taken her long to figure out exactly how far she can push before I push back, I think, looking down at the ring on my left hand. How did she figure it out?
"Don't tell me to fuck off again, but it looks good on you," she says, apparently noticing me looking at the thing. "You need long fingers to pull off a ring that hefty. It looks almost small on your hand, though."
I look back at her. "What did you call them again?"
"Frying-pan hands," she answers immediately. "It's what my mom always called my brother's hands."
She's right about the ring. It fits well. "I'm still not going to wear it in the arena."
She smirks. "That's what you think. I've already told Rhodendra I need to get it shrunken half a size right before the arena so when you put it on for the interview it won't come off."
"Kind of stupid that you've just told me your plan then."
She waves her hand dismissively. "I'll think of a new one. I'm not very good at sticking to plans anyway."
I raise my eyebrows. "That's good to hear right before you go for your private session."
She grins. "I'll be fine. I'm a champion at winging it. And thanks to your wise instruction, I know what I need to do and how to do it. What could go wrong?"
That is a question I know not to answer.
Just as I'm finishing the last of the food on my plate, the bell rings signalling the end of lunch. A completely unnecessary announcement begins, telling us to make our way to the waiting room by the buffet table, quickly drowned out by the sounds of twenty-four chairs scraping against the floor at once. It's time.
I don't notice that Caerwyn isn't right behind me until after I'm sitting in the front corner of the waiting room. Most of the Tributes have filed in, including Farley, who is heading right for the seat next to me.
She's barely a step away when suddenly the chair is filled and Caerwyn is already halfway through a wordy apology for being late.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the dumbfounded look on Farley's face. She just stands there blinking like an idiot for a full five seconds before blurting: "get out of my seat."
Caerwyn pauses, looking up as if just noticing her. She looks from Farley to me and back again, the picture of polite confusion. "I'm sorry? Were you sitting here?"
"It's my seat," Farley repeats.
"Oh, don't worry Farley, they don't need us to sit in any particular order," Caerwyn says cheerfully. "You can sit with your partner if you want!"
I make the mistake of looking at Logan across the room, who's staring at Farley—now the only one not sitting—like she's grown another head. I clear my throat to cover the laugh that almost gets out.
Farley's face is beet red as she stomps across to the seat beside her partner, every eye on her in the dead silence.
Caerwyn just smiles after her, without a hint of malice.
I turn my head to the wall between us, so Farley can't see my face. "That was stupid," I say quietly.
Caerwyn looks up at me, smirking now. "Can she want to kill me more than she already did?"
A fair point. "I guess we'll find out."
She holds out her hand. Inside are two candies wrapped in green foil. "I wanted a snack while I wait for my turn—they're mint chocolates. Want one? Did you save any room?"
I shake my head.
"Alright, but you're not going to clear eight-thousand calories that way." She unwraps one. "We've got to put on that weight." She pats her stomach, which, while not exactly round, definitely has a softness to it that most of the other Tributes don't have. Ten is poor, but she did say her family does okay, so she must eat better than most too.
Then the announcer calls for Glint, and the quiet chatter that had picked up dies almost immediately as he leaves out the other door. It doesn't pick up until a while later, when the voice calls for Majestie.
"She's good with a bow, isn't she?" Caerwyn asks me, her voice low.
I nod. "Pretty good." I would have said great a year ago, but my standards have changed.
"On a scale from one to Katniss?"
"Is Katniss a ten?"
"Technically I think she got an eleven, but yes."
I roll my eyes. "Then Majestie is an eight." I look down at her again. "What, are you planning to do archery too and worried about the competition? Is that why your hair is like that?"
Caerwyn huffs. "Contrary to propaganda to the contrary: Katniss was not the first girl to ever put her hair in a braid," she says. "And hers went to the side, not right down the middle. It's different."
"Sure."
"Besides, everyone knows you're the Katniss of this relationship," she continues. "And I'm Peeta; the one with fewer arena-applicable skills. Even more importantly, I'm the funny, likeable one." She pauses. "The master of interviews."
"Are you done?"
"The dropper of truth-bombs. The baked goods enthusiast."
"Fucking hell," I lean my head back against the wall. "Is it my turn yet?"
For all she can be annoying, the time does seem to go by quickly with Caerwyn so determined to keep conversation going. Pretty soon it is my turn.
"Cato Emery." The voice calls.
Caerwyn bumps her knee against mine, and the smile she offers is unusually subdued. Still warm, though. "Good luck."
A year ago I had almost every second of my private session planned. If I closed my eyes even now and didn't think about it, I could probably still go through the entire thing from start to finish, every movement of the sword a pattern ingrained deep in my muscle memory.
I won't use much of it this year. I didn't see it then, but now I know that the Gamemakers have seen probably every version of a fantastic performance with every weapon in the gymnasium, and it will take more than that to wow them.
I can't forgo it entirely, and never would, but still it feels wrong to stand in the middle of the room, call out my name, and move away from the weapon racks. I don't look up at the Gamemakers to see if they're surprised. I'm not sure I want to see their faces.
Planning for this happened all throughout the last year, even if it was solidified last night on the roof and a bit more this morning during training. The new plan is simple: complete one snare, spend four minutes taking the poisonous plants test, then use the remaining time fighting two trainers at once.
Easy to plan, but preparing for it was another story.
The snare is one of only two I know. My hands have done it a hundred times by now, but it feels kind of strange without Adrian here, using the equipment in the gymnasium instead of the stuff he bought in the village back home. I wanted to practise this morning, but even in the relative privacy of the gym I wasn't going to risk it. Only two people in the world know I can do this—Adrian and Caerwyn—and now the Gamemakers, and I'd like to keep it that way. The less Farley and the other Volunteers know, the better.
The less the board knows, the better.
I finish quickly, so focused I barely register the relief when the virtual rabbit runs by and the snare works flawlessly, skewering it through the chest. The second it makes contact, I'm already on my way to the plants station.
This one I'm almost nervous about; no matter how much time I spent at Adrian's doing the test on his tablet, this sort of test never came naturally. I don't think it does to anyone who went through the Academy.
Most of those nights I wondered if Dominic had spent the time to learn extra skills would he'd still be alive. I tried never to think about Clove.
I don't think of either of them now. My all-time record for the test back home was two minutes and forty-eight seconds. I give myself three and a half minutes today, using the extra time to make sure I don't make a stupid mistake.
I finish eight seconds early. I don't make a single error.
My shoulders relax as I cross the gym for the weapon stations. I did it. It's not over yet, of course, but if there's one thing in this life I'm sure about, it's that I can kill better than almost anyone. This session as good as done, and it's gone off without a hitch.
My suit is already waiting, and by the time it's zipped up, two trainers are there and suited up as well.
Everything from which blades I'll use I've already decided. I test them out just to be sure their weight and balance is the same, and then I'm ready.
Don't forget, only show off a little, I can hear Adrian say. And don't let it finish too quick, or too slow. Then the show's yours.
The trainers are good—it's their job to be good, after all—but even knowing I'm from District Two doesn't mean they come at me with everything they've got right away. Their initial restraint lets me get a bit warmed up as I dodge and deflect blows until they realise they can turn it up a notch. Pretty soon they're coming at me at a speed that would easily take my head off if this wasn't all just for fun.
And if they could hit me.
After the last Games I knew I needed to improve my approach, but my secret, after-hours training with Adrian didn't keep me from working my ass off every day at the Academy just like I have ever since I was six. I can still remember those first days, when Karnus would drop me off in the big gym with the other little kids while he would go train the older ones. I remember all the running, climbing, and wrestling, and even though all the trainers pushed me (and none more than my own father) I remember thinking it was so much fun.
It wasn't until I was eleven that I realised I wasn't there to have fun, and I also wasn't there because of who my father was; I was there because of who I was. I was there because District Two demands the best. I was good. I became the best.
Now I'm better.
I "kill" the first trainer after seven minutes, ducking a blow he expected me to block, taking a risk and moving much closer to the other trainer than she anticipated, and in their combined shock, I swing with fatal accuracy at the first one's head.
He's out.
The other recovers very quickly, but now that my attention isn't divided, she can tell I'm toying with her. She picks it up another level, and she's very fast, but at the end of the day she knows she's here to make me look good and won't give it her all. A few minutes later the point of the sword in my left hand hits her in the sternum so hard it knocks her flat on her back. It'll bruise, even through the suit.
And just like that it's over for real.
I turn to the Gamemakers sitting up on the balcony, every one of them watching me. I'm breathing heavily, but all I want is to run. I want to fight again. I want to fight both trainers again and have them actually try their hardest—I want to beat them still, to know I'm better even than the Capitol.
But I don't. I can't.
I replace the blades, turning once more to the Gamemakers and giving them a respectful nod. The nod was never in the plan, but it feels right, after what was probably an unexpected session.
Adrian and I discussed it dozens of times in the last months—whether it was smart to spend time doing anything but weapons. Every time we decided that it was, even if it was against the rules of the Academy, even if we had to admit it was much less impressive.
We talked about it last night, too, Caerwyn and I. She agreed.
"They know you're at least as good as any District Two Tribute they've seen before when it comes to fighting and killing," she'd said simply, "so give them something else, something that makes you better."
I am better. And it turns out we were right, all three of us, though Caerwyn was right about a couple other things too: that night I score an eleven.
6101719:I was fishing around in this doc for some background info today while writing and you know what I realised? Today is the day I had written in as Cato's birthday. September 21st, how about that?
So I skipped class, crushed a workout, drank an entire bottle of wine and finished this motherfucking chapter. It's what Cato would have wanted, after all.
Thanks everyone for your lovely comments and kudos on the previous chapters. You are all so encouraging and I can't tell you enough how much joy it brings to hear your thoughts on this fic and these characters, who are all so much fun to work with. I hope this Cato POV chapter lives up to your expectations and you're not too taken aback by how giant it is or how many more f-bombs it contains (although really, both of those things are very appropriate).
Lyrics from the beginning are from "Watch You Crawl" by RED.
That's all for now! Much love.
(Just kidding that's not all for now. Maybe it's all the wine, or how late it is right now, but I'm feeling extra grateful to all you wonderful readers and want to do something fun! There will be a wee reward-a drabble for a THG ship of your choice-for the first person who can tell me what my favourite dystopian book series is based on the couple of little clues in this chapter. May the odds be ever in your favour!)